


The Boss, The Bitch and the Bull

by Entropyrose



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Forced Orgasm, Graphic Rape, Graphic Violence, Lactation Kink, M/M, Multi, OT3, Praise Kink, Pre-OT3, Taunting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: Rumlow is pissed. Somebody on Hydra's tech team has decided that Jack might make a better stud for breeding the Winter Soldier. Jack is going to find a way to make both Winter and his brooding Superior his doting bitches.(Just a long,  drawn out PWP really.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hiemallily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiemallily/gifts).



> This is total trash, so if you are uncomfortable with graphic, terrible rape please exit now. Bucky is mentioned in this first chapter, but chapter two is going to be all about him <3

He knows the sound of the footsteps behind him. The familiar jingle from a specific set of keys swaying from an armored hip. Brock’s knuckles go white around the computer mouse until the plastic starts to crack under the pressure. Mindful of the deep shit he’d be stepping in for breaking Hydra’s “irreplaceable” technology, he lets out a deep breath through flared nostrils and keeps his eyes burned to the surveillance screen looming above his head.

 

This is the last fucking thing he wants to be doing right now: delegated to reviewing hours of video footage from last night’s mission while his men are in the Hangar, actually doing important shit like cleaning weapons and refueling the jets. Sometimes being the boss is a bitch: sure, it’s nice to be the guy in front calling all the shots, the one whose name makes the lackeys piss themselves, but he could happily do without the mountains of paperwork and the fact that if any little thing goes wrong, it’s his head on the chopping block.

 

Of course, this is all extra. This isn’t what’s been rubbing his patience more raw than a pussy on Prom night. It’s this douchebag right here—the one who saunters in behind him, head held high, his usually slicked-back hair having fallen casually to one side and smelling like victory with a shit-eating grin to match. The hair on Rumlow’s back sticks up pin-straight as the taller man sidles up, careful to gaze straight ahead, pretending his damndest to look intrigued by the black and white footage that flickers on the screen.

 

“You two have fun?,” Brock grinds out through clenched  teeth. He knows he shouldn’t broach the subject. Hell, he doesn’t even have the right to feel the jealousy and possessive rage that engulfs his consciousness like rapidly-spreading wildfire.

 

His second-in-command is a hulking giant of a man. Brock’s head barely reaches his shoulder, and that just adds insult to jury. Maybe that’s why he was Hydra’s next best pick—a bigger, stronger Alpha should surely do the trick. But Brock feels unable to stop the torrent of emotions that choke and drown his better judgement. “Eh,” is all Jack says. He even bothers with a one-shouldered shrug and that is when Rumlow spins on his heel, taking ahold of as much material under Jack’s chin as he can fit in his fist. He has to reach up on his tip-toes to glare into his steel-gray eyes, even after using his body weight and the raw, knotted muscle if his arms to wrench Jack’s face down until he meets him in the eyes.

 

“That’s it? That’s all you gotteh fuckin’ say?!” Rumlow’s nose nearly grazes Jacks as he digs his eyes into the back of the man’s skull.

 

The Asset was supposed to be  _ his  _ omega! His and his alone! He was the only one who could get near him. He had spent the better part of a year gaining his trust, working with him, coaxing him through his heats. It happened a lot more slowly than he would have liked, but his characteristically abnormal amount of patience had  paid off in the end. He had been successfully breeding the Asset for months, now. He had even given him a name, one which he never uttered within earshot of any if the Hydra lackeys. Winter.  _ His  _ Winter. He had built up a rapport with the steel-armed killer that nobody else could touch. Even when he got out of the Freezer or they scrambled his brain, he started to  _ remember.  _ It was Rumlow that soothed him when he was injured, Rumlow who had treated him like a real, living creature. Rumlow who painstakingly fed him his cock until Winter was sobbing for it, begging for more. 

 

There hadn’t been any warning either. Not so much as a simple word to let him know he needed to step up his game: that taming the Winter Soldier wasn’t enough: that Hydra wanted him knocked up, too. And if course that would have been a natural result to their frequent lovemaking—if that’s what you could call it—but Brock didn’t know that that was the end game. Looking back, he supposes, he should have guessed: why have one brainwashed mega-assassin when you could breed a small army of them?

 

“Easy,” Jack growls, his head ducked low—it’s a fair warning before the real shit hits the fan—bringing both hands up along either side of his head, fingers splayed.

 

“You fuckin’ piece of shit,” Brock backs him up against the console, and Jack must be letting him do it because nobody moves his hulking mass unless he wants to be moved. Rumlow is too pissed to give a shit as to why—he tucks his fist as far underneath Jack’s chin as it’ll go and draws his other back, pursing his lips and steadying his aim. His judgement stops him from letting it fly forward. He lets out a conflicted roar before ends Jack’s shoulder blades into the curved console behind him.

 

A few lights flicker on the panel as his body lands against it with a heavy THUD, Jack’s fingers skittering across the keys as he steadies himself against it. Little error lights pop up and the key panel lets out a few displeased chirps. Surveying his superior with a cold, calculated stare, Jack drags a closed fist over his mouth before leaning forward again onto his feet. “It’s alright,” he mutters.

 

“Is it?!” Rumlow throws his hands wide in disgust. “Is it really, because I’d say things are lookin’ pretty fucked if you ask me!”

 

Jack shoves a hand into his pocket, reverting his eyes back to the surveillance screen. “Was just following orders.”

 

Rumlow barks out a gruff laugh. “Oh yeah you were. Just doin’ your duty, huh Rollins? Makin a big sacrifice for god and country by fucking my omega.”

 

“He’s not  _ your omega _ ,” Jack corrects him, and it sends a shard of sheer rage through Rumlow because goddamn it if Rollins isn’t right. “He doesn’t belong to you. He doesn’t belong to anyone but Hydra.” 

 

Rumlow claps a hand over the back of his neck, having retreated to his side of the control room, throwing his gaze to the screen and trying to deny the intense itch in his trigger finger. “I watched, you know.” 

 

Jack snorts softly, as if  _ that  _ should make a difference. Rumlow knows it doesn’t. And that, if the mating was unsuccessful, this “sharing” thing could go on for months. 

 

“You were rough.” 

 

Jack shrugs again, this time with both arms folded over his chest as he wanders ever closer to his fuming superior. “He’s the Winter Solider,” he guffs. “Pretty sure he’ll get over it. Besides, why the fuck do you care so much? You telling me you’ve got a soft spot for the guy just because you knotted him a few times?” 

 

“More than a few,” Rumlow remarks, throwing a finger across to the far side of the room.  “And you’ll stay the hell over  _ there  _ if you know what’s good for you.” The temperature in the room is rising as they lock eyes, sizing each other up the way rival bulls do, huffing and snorting in their separate corners. A spice like cinnamon unfurls amidst Jack’s alpha stench--lithe and lilting, and Rumlow knows it immediately as Winter’s. On the edge of the fragrance’s end-note, perched a little higher than the saccharine flavors of honey and pumpkin is a scent indicative of nervousness, pain and confusion.  _ Fear.  _ Rumlow’s hackles spike once more and he reaches for his gun. “YOU FUCKIN HURT HIM, YOU SHITBAG.” 

 

Even as Rumlow cocks and levels his pistol, Jack seems none too concerned. He sighs as his hands go back to the held-up position, cocking one hip as his eyes roll back to the ceiling. “C’mon, Boss…” 

 

“NO. No, you’re gonna fucking LISTEN. I’m gonna go check him and if I see so much as a mark--you hear me, a fucking  _ mark _ \--I’m gonna feed your brain  _ hot lead.”  _ Rumlow surges towards the door, jamming his pistol back in its holster and tearing open the door. A booted foot stops it from opening, and Rumlow’s head flies back, mouth flying open, chest heaving as he prepares to tear his lieutenant a new asshole. 

 

He doesn’t get the chance. “Lemme show you,” Jack murmurs, just as his form closes in over Brock and he presses his wide, calloused lips to his. Brock gasps, but his airway is blocked by a wide, roaming tongue. 

 

He means to growl but it comes out more like a pathetic moan as he stumbles backward. No good. Jack just follows, devouring Rumlow’s mouth and pressing an impressively wide hand to his back, crushing him against the bulging expanse of his chest and shoving the other into the crevasse of Rumlow’s tactical harness, jerking it free from his pants with one tug. 

 

Rumlow tries desperately to drag air into his lungs, but his nostrils are crushed by Jack’s cheek. He claws desperately at Jack’s kevlar vest for something to pull on--a belt or buckle, maybe. A knife. An earlobe. Anything to _ get him the fuck off!  _

 

It’s impossible to escape as he squirms against Jack’s crushing hold. The air is being mercilessly dragged out of him even as his lungs are already burning due to the lack of oxygen. He throws himself forward, since reverse won’t work, and there is a dense THUD as his forehead connects with Jack’s. 

 

Jack lets out a surprised grunt, his hold releasing just enough for Rumlow to drag in a deep, much-needed breath of air and dig his palms into the plates of armor covering his abdomen. He shoves back with everything he has, and as Jack stumbles backwards, Brock flicks the button on the back of his blade-holster, unsheathing a knife. In a half-breath it is leveled against Jack’s jugular. “THE FUCK?!” Rumlow barks. 

 

Jack’s stare is emotionless and unapologetic as it bares down over Rumlow, his dark eyelashes veiling any hint of light that might enter them. “You heard me,” Jack murmurs. He feigns a step forward and Rumlow falls for it, slamming one foot back towards the door while Jack wrenches the blade away, sending it spiraling to the floor. “Boss.” 

 

Rumlow could go for his gun, but he’s smart enough to know that the very same thing might happen that happened to the knife and then he’d be completely out of options. Maybe Brock took the threatening a little too far? He clears his throat and wipes his mouth with a gloved hand, even as the pungent smell of rival alpha burns its way into his brain. Everything about it says that Jack is better than him. Brock’s alpha sensibilities are sending up flare signals as fast as his body receives them:  _ stop. Go back. He’s more alpha than you. He’s stronger, bigger, faster. You cannot win this! You are dead.  _

 

Upon ignoring warning signs preceding a fight, the alpha body begins shutting down its basic functions in a last-ditch attempt at self-preservation. He blinks away the haziness that clouds his vision, and shakes the sleepy feeling that settles in his hands. This has only ever happened on!ce before, and it was during a training session with Jack. Rumlow knew right then and there to make the man his Second or he’d risk losing it all to the far superior alpha. 

 

A vice-like grip goes around his throat and he lets out a surprised, undignified squeal and goes weightless, his booted feet leaving the ground at a rapid pace only to crash down on a hard, cold metal surface not a moment later. The air that he’d been able to drag into his throbbing chest gets bashed out of him as his stomach hits the control panel and the buttons light up angrily in blue and green. 

 

A signal flashes off and on methodically somewhere above their heads; a series of bleeps followed by a monotone “ERROR….ERROR...ERROR”. Rumlow’s hands skitter along the keys, searching for purchase that he cannot seem to find as his feet flip over his head and his belt gets yanked loose, exposing his milky-white ass to the alpha-stench in the room. 

 

“The fuck are you  _ doing--?!”  _ He rasps, jamming his feet into the air. Twice he feels them connect with something flat and fleshy. He realizes not a moment later that it’s Jack’s hands, wrenching his legs apart. A heavy mass like a warm tree trunk slams in between them and rough thumbs dig into his bony hips, forcing him flat to the metal structure. 

 

“You wanted to know how it was done.” A hand flies into Brock’s hair, grabbing a fistful of the soft black spikes and jamming his face into the keys. More erratic beeping ensues, more electronic chirping. 

 

“ERROR...ERROR...ERROR…” 

 

Rumlow flattens his hands palms-down to the curved keyboard, triceps burning as he tries to drag himself upright--and Jack’s weight with him. 

 

“He didn’t struggle as much,” Rollins muses. He blocks yet another pathetic attempt at a kick with the gun-holster at his hip and grinds his hips into Brocks. “‘Course,” he adds with a dark chuckle, “You did train him didn’t you? To be a nice boy. And, god, was he ever…” Jack groans at the thought, leisurely rolling his hips into Brock’s naked ass. 

 

Brock lets out a frustrated roar, dragging his chipped nails across the keys. His head perks up ever so slightly at the sight of the big red button labeled “SECURITY BREACH” and he throws himself towards it. The tips of his fingers brush the button as Jack drags him backwards by his tactical belt, his bared ass backing into Rollin’s growing bulge. 

 

“Oh, come on, Rumlow. Resorting to a cry for help? I didn’t take you for a coward.” 

 

And of course, it’s big. Everything on this guy is gargantuan. Somewhere along the way, Rumlow’s brain has determined that this is a fight for survival, not procreation, and has transferred full control of his faculties back to its owner, for whatever good they’ll do him now. At last, one of his steel-toe boots connects with Jack’s knee and it’s just enough for Brock to flip himself onto his back. 

 

Bad move. 

 

Jack is on him like a grisly, dragging his pants down ever further along with his boxer-briefs until Rumlow’s cock is swinging, free from its fabric cage, between his well-muscled legs. Even as Jack is wrenching Brock’s head back, baring his throat and planting him back into place along the security bench, his silver eyes are misting over every inch of exposed flesh. 

 

Brock bucks wildly, nostrils flaring and every vein in his body popping to attention. His eyes flash up into Jack’s, promising a very bloody, slow and agonizing death if only he could get out of his current bind. Literally. 

 

“You might be little, but you truly are a specimen, aren’t you, Boss?” Jack tisks as he effortlessly rucks Rumlow’s shirt up past his pectorals, then jams it up over his head and through, effectively trapping him there, both hands up over his head. 

 

“But you--you just mated!” Rumlow hates himself for how weak he sounds. Frightened. 

 

“Thanks for your concern, but I need at least two or three good knots before I’m fully sated. And you and I know that Hydra only allows  _ one _ .” 

 

Rumlow’s belly ebbs in and out with every ragged breath as both men pause mid-struggle, Brock’s face buried halfway into his tight black athletic top, glaring out of the corner of one eye, and Jack biting his bottom lip as if he’s eyeing a piece of rare prime rib. Brock flicks his tongue across cracked lips and pushes his voice through his parched chords. “I swear to God, Jack, when we get outta here…” 

 

“You talk too much,” Jack intervenes, tearing a piece of Rumlow’s sheer top shirt and jamming it into his gaping mouth. He secures it there with a zip-tie from his hip, pulling so tightly the side of Rumlow’s mouth leaks blood. “You’re ruining the mood.”

 

Everything about Jack turns Rumlow off--and that’s just how nature intended it. His scent clashes with Rumlow’s mid-air, assaulting his nostrils and making his stomach do backflips. Jack sniffs the air, taking in a deep drag and blowing it out slowly as if it’s some kind of perfume. 

 

“Yeah, I know,” he murmurs, keeping one hand on the binds he’s made out of Rumlow’s shirt and blocking his body against the console while working his fly with the other. “But I’ve been thinking about this for so long, too fucking long, honestly…” 

 

Rumlow’s eyes flash and he lets out a muffled cry. 

 

Jack guesses correctly. “ _ Why?”  _ He tosses his head to the side with a dark laugh. “Christ, boss, you really are a clueless little shit, aren’t you?” He presses his forehead against Rumlows, those gray, wolf-like eyes boring holes into Rumlow’s brain. “Because I  _ like  _ you. If you’ve never caught me staring at this fine ass…” He sends his hand up Rumlow’s bare cheek, giving it a playful little slap that makes Rumlow jerk upright. “Then you’re just as ignorant as any virgin omega.” 

 

“NNNMMT MHH HOHMMHMM!” Rumlow growls over the scrap. 

 

“I  _ know  _ you’re not an omega,” Jack purrs, bumping his bulge against Rumlow’s flaccid length. Rumlow lets out a cry that bursts straight from his chest and would probably break the sound barrier if not for the piece of fabric in his mouth. His body convulses into a fit of violence and it makes Jack laugh. He waits out the storm--Rumlow’s flailing legs fail to land on anything solid and within mere seconds, he is panting through his nostrils and desperate for air. His eyes are lethal--burning into Jack’s with unmatched fury. “God you are so cute like this.” Jack trails a hand up to cup Rumlow’s jawline, ogling at the muscle that shudders underneath. “I wouldn’t want you to be  _ an  _ omega,” he continues, dipping his hand down to flatten it against Rumlow’s pectorals and taking turns squeezing each one, rolling his budding nipples between a thumb and index finger before continuing downward. “I just want you to be  _ my  _ omega.” 

 

These words rekindle a surge of rage that spreads through Rumlow like wildfire and has him bashing himself against the console in an attempt--any attempt--to gain the upper hand. 

 

“Thought this is what you wanted?” With a flick of a button, Jack’s length spills out of his tactical pants. The smell is overwhelming. He is covered in dry come and Winter’s lurid scent, and the thought that his omega-- _ his Winter-- _ was bouncing on that not moments ago and whimpering like a bitch in heat and begging for more---!? 

 

Rumlow throws his head to the far wall, his eyes wide and wild. 

 

“I wasn’t finished when they pulled him off me, so…” Jack stares down at his veiny cock. The air alone has it standing to full attention, the semen still swirling around the bulbous head and pooling at the slit. There is a slight bulge at its hilt, indicative of a deflating knot. “I’m gonna give it to you like I gave it to him. His slick should be enough to ease access.” 

 

With a grunt he spins Rumlow backwards onto his stomach, sliding him off the keys that play the error codes and onto the desk portion. Winter’s scent cuts through the panic, numbing his scattered mind and putting his terror on ice. Brock gets his knees underneath of him and in one swift movement, catapults himself off the console. He ruins the landing, spilling himself onto the cheap linoleum tile and scampering backwards as Jack climbs on. One boot connects with Jack’s face, knocking him momentarily to the ground. 

 

“...such a pain in my ass,” Jack growls, once again tearing into Rumlow’s hair and flattening himself on top of him. He brings his weight down hard, effectively crushing the other man as he runs his impossibly thick length over Rumlow’s ass crack. “Wanted to do this nice. Wanted to show you a good time. Then you go and fuck everything up.” 

 

“AHHOHHL!” 

 

“Yes, I am an asshole.” 

 

Jack’s buckles and belts dig into Brock’s flesh, making him forget momentarily about the zip-tie that’s slowly separating the top of his head from his bottom jaw. He struggles to push himself onto his elbows, only to be shoved head-down into the tile again.

 

“You watched me till the end, right?” Jack ruts mercilessly against Rumlow’s bared ass, running his full length across his crack until the head of his cock finds the flickering pucker of his entrance. “Mmmh...you saw what I made him do, then. Couldn’t have him thinking we were buddies, right?” 

 

Brock’s fists are jammed under his chest as he feels his body slowly breaking in two, the massive amount of pressure from Jack’s cock eeking out a desperate, dry growl from deep within his chest. 

 

“As I said, the technicians were being a little impatient with me. They were waiting for the knot to go down, but, well. I’m a big boy.” Jack dips his thumb into Rumlow’s dry opening, furthering the searing pain of the stretch. “So I made him stand up and take me out.” 

Rumlow’s eyes fly open and he throws himself in reverse on the floor, trying in desperation to tear himself away from the much larger man. He had watched the tape--he had seen Winter struggle to come to a standing position, his own cock still very much engorged, as Jack barked the order at him. Winter hesitated. Brock didn’t have to be in the same room to see that something was clearly wrong, but from the high angle of the footage, he couldn’t make out why.

 

White-hot pressure tears through him in an instant as he is impaled. His legs go out completely as he throws his head back in a muffled scream. A huge soft hand runs the length of his back, causing goosebumps to land where it touches. “Sssh, shhh. I know, sweetheart. Fuck….but you feel so good…” 

 

The only time Rumlow has felt wetness in his eyes has been during tear-gas training, and even then he barely noticed it. He was trained to ignore such things, but for Rumlow, it comes naturally. The ring of muscle encounters a swollen, distended portion of Jack’s shaft and Jack stops his hips. Brock hates himself for it, but he lets a relieved whimper escape as his front half slumps to the floor. A clear drop lands on the cheap tile directly between his elbows. 

 

The sensation that comes next is one of cold steel running up his right shoulder. He shivers, but it feels calming in a way. It reminds him of Winter’s metal arm: sometimes Winter will slip a few cool digits into Brock’s mouth as Brock is thrusting into him and they are just like this: icy and sleek and dangerous. A blade appears out of the corner of his vision, and he drags a gasp in through his nose. 

 

“Shut up, dumbass. I’m not going to shiv you.” 

 

Rumlow holds still as Jack slips the blade between his cheek and the zip-tie and it breaks free in a single flick of his wrist. Rumlow forces out the drool-soaked ball of cloth with his dry tongue before convulsing into a coughing fit. 

 

“Figured you’re not going to make a fucking sound now,” Jack explains. 

 

Rumlow glares at him over his shoulder. “Wanna bet?” 

 

“Shut up,” Jack warns with a flick of his hips. Instantly, Rumlow’s belly is on fire, Jack’s impossibly thick cock surging forward into his sore entrance and rutting the swollen mass of flesh at his hilt further into Brock’s aching hole. 

 

“No--no--don’t!” Rumlow concedes, flattening his hands to the floor and lying as still as possible as Jack begins to leisurely thrust into him. 

 

“God that sounds nice coming from you,” Jack purrs, continuing to draw little circles between Brock’s shoulder blades and rocking his hips back and forth. “I thought I’d like it better when you struggled, but hearing you beg?” He lets out a groan that dissolves into a sigh as he works his shaft slowly out of Brock’s hole, almost completely, before feeding it to him in painfully slow increments, until he is filled up again nearly to his belly. Brock whines. 

 

“You fucking hurt him,” he growls.

 

“Yeah I’m hurting you too,” Jack offers. His hand disappears around Rumlow’s waist to softly stroke the erection that Brock didn’t know was growing there. “Doesn’t mean you’re not enjoying it.” He dips a finger into Brock’s slit and Brock gasps as liquid leaks out, spilling into Jack’s hand. The bigger alpha lets out a pleased chuckle. “See?” 

 

“M’not getting this,” Brock mumurs. “I’m an...an alpha. Don’t I stink to you? Don’t I turn you off?” 

 

“Mmmmh….quite the opposite, actually.” Undeterred, Jack wraps his thick fingers around Brock’s budding length and making the smaller man buck his hips. “Therrrre….” he purrs. “There’s a good boy. Doesn’t that feel so good? Huh? Don’t you love it when I feed you my cock?” 

 

“Are you…” Rumlow slams his eyes into Jack’s. “Are you praise-kinking me right now you fucking bastard?” 

 

“Fucking right I am.” Jack digs his nails in suddenly and Brock yelps, his asshole practically jumping into the bulbous flesh of Jack’s knot and Jack rolls his hips forward, stilling Rumlow’s hips and forcing himself into his fluttering entrance. 

 

“Aagh--!” Rumlow’s body contorts under the pressure, the aching ring of muscle having burned the pain right into his core. Another clear wet drop hits the tile in front of him. “Fuck--”

 

“Winter didn’t want to do it,” Jack mutters, his voice suddenly growing dark. Dangerous. “He wanted to fight me. But I told him I’d be his only alpha if he didn’t do what I told him. So he fucking tore his little asshole open for me and pulled my knot out. All so I could feed it to  _ you _ .” 

 

“Fuck you!” Brock hisses, and Jack replies with rapid-fire strokes to Rumlow’s aching cock. The pressure is building fast, the underside of Jack’s dick having found a spongy mound of flesh deep within him to hammer into. 

 

“Nng…...That’s the idea, sweetheart.” 

 

The intensity at which Jack strokes him off is far too much, far too fast. Instead of pleasure, it ribs at Rumlow’s very core with a searing, oversensitive pain. Any movement he makes to buck the alpha off ends with his ass being split further open on that damned knot, to the point where Brock’s convinced he must be tearing. He lunges back with his foot only to feel it locked down to the floor by Jack’s tree-trunk of a leg, and lets out a discouraged grunt into his wadded-up shirt. 

 

Jack chuckles. “Enjoy it, will you? This is basically the same thing you do to that little cinnamon-haired omega you claim to like so much. There’s no shame in it.” He ruts forward again, the widest expanse of the knot grazing Brock’s clenched entrance. 

 

“Why don’t you get on this side, then?” Rumlow squeaks out. His store-house of mouthy quips is quickly running out as the pain takes over. A whimper he doesn’t mean to let go gets muffled into the drool-soaked tee shirt. He has already lost and he knows it. The pistol at his hip is worthless without the use of his arms, and he’s impaled on Jack’s eggplant-sized cock, rendered basically immobile. As the inevitability of what’s about to happen hits, he lets out a shallow sob, his chest heaving, sliding his forehead to the floor. His body droops beneath Jack’s crushing weight as his arms begin to shake. “Come on, man. You...you made your point. Get the fuck off me.” 

 

Jack lets out an indignant grunt. “My point? Apparently I haven’t if you think this is all just some alpha pissing-match. No, Brock. I like  _ you.”  _

 

Rumlow laughs breathlessly, wincing as he feels the last of the tight mound of flesh drag into his fluttering, spent hole. “I bet you say that to all the girls. AAAGH---” 

 

Jack and Rumlow grunt in unison as Jack fully seats himself inside with a violent thrust and the entirety of his dick is engulfed in the tightness and the heat of Brock’s ass. It tears a helpless whimper from deep within Rumlow’s chest, and he hates himself for it. But soon, Jack has returned to pawing at Rumlow’s back in rounded strokes as he quivers beneath. “Therrrre, baby. All done, now. You’ve swallowed my whole cock. Hungry boy.” 

 

With the threat of more pain behind him, Rumlow lets out a violent snarl and bucks upwards against Brock’s kevlar-clad thighs. It only serves to thrash the wet rod of flesh around inside of him until he can feel it in his belly and makes Jack roll his head back in pleasure and let out a moan. 

 

“Fuck...yeah, sweetheart. Just like that.”

 

“Shut UP!”

 

“You first.” Jack bears down over him again, tightening his grip on Rumlow’s own shaft, matching his thrusts to the long, powerful strokes as he brings Brock to the edge. 

 

This is unreal. This is not at all how his body should be responding: Brock bends himself backwards, presenting like an omega bitch and opening his hips wide for Jack to feed his cock further into. Impossibly, Jack is growing inside him and invading his walls with every thrust until Brock’s entrance spasms, his muscles spent and tired and unable to constrict the rigid shaft any longer. 

 

“Beg me,” Jack groans above him, the stupid sounds of his own pleasure mingling midair with the merciless slap of skin-on-skin. “Beg me to stop fucking you. Tell me how much you hate it. That you fucking  _ hate me _ .” 

 

“ _ GO TO HELL _ ,” Brock spits. His balls are drawing up tight, the friction and ferocity of Jack’s skillful hand pushing him to the brink of ecstasy in spite of himself. 

 

“Oh, you’re going to come for me, aren’t you? My little alpha. You’re going to let yourself go because you love this, you love the feeling of something warm and wiggling inside of you. I’m giving you something that pathetic omega never could. Just look at yourself, you’re so ready for it.” 

 

Brock glances down as if to obey the command before he even realizes what he’s doing. The sight of his glossy, cum-ridden dick wrapped around Jack’s long, thick fingers makes the heat rush to his face. He bites down on his bottom lip, but can’t force himself to look away. The head of his cock is swollen and purple from the abuse as it disappears between Jack’s calloused fist. A pool of precome settles in the crook of his thumb and forefinger, almost as if he’s milking it out of him. Then, he rolls the delicate skin back over, exposing the pinkish hood before pummelling it again between his masterful digits. “S-stop!,” Brock sobs. 

 

“Oh sweetie, there it is. That’s right. Keep begging me. Maybe I’ll listen, yeah? Maybe I’ll let you go? What do you think?” 

 

“J-Jack….you fucking….I’m….I’m gonna….” 

 

A thick stream of white spurts from between Jack’s fingers, splattering all over the cheap tile floor and up onto Rumlow’s tee shirt as Brock’s mouth drops open. Suddenly, Jack’s mouth is crushing against Rumlow’s ear, sucking on the rim of his earlobe and lifting between his teeth to draw it in with a rough, cat-like tongue. “That’s it, baby. There we go. Oh goddamn, look at you. It’s still coming out.” 

 

Rumlow rides the aftershocks of his climax, his body involuntarily jerking as Jack draws out more come with his hand. 

 

“This is why you can’t breed Winter,” Jack explains. “You can’t knock the poor bastard up properly because he doesn’t do it for you.” 

 

“What--the fuck--are you t-talking about?” Rumlow’s hole shudders around Jack’s massive cock as he starts up a renewed rhythm, pile-driving Brock’s face right into the floor. 

 

“I mean, you need my cock in you to do the job properly. Just look at your knot.”

 

Despite himself, he glances down at himself again, and fuck if Jack isn’t right. The mound of flesh bulging out from his cock is enough to fully engulf it, more than Brock has ever produced during a mating. It would be more than enough to form a seal and ensure all of his seed stayed locked inside. The thought of giving his Winter such an impressive knot makes him shiver. It would lock them in place together for an hour, maybe two. He could give it to Winter with the full confidence that it could get him successfully pregnant. Though the orgasm has scrambled his brain and thrown his motor functions into neutral, he manages to huff out the words “What...are you...suggesting?” 

 

Jack lets out a dark chuckle, his cum-filled hand flying behind Rumlow’s head and snapping it back with a hiss. “I’m sayin’, I got an idea.” He hammers his hips down onto Brock’s ass, driving the much smaller man downward until he is flat to the ground with nowhere to go and nothing to grab onto slick, sticky tile. He picks up the pace, letting a deep groan fly out from his heaving chest as he slams repeatedly into Brock’s entrance. 

 

Something inside of Brock tears, but he is past the ability to scream or protest--every breath captured and burning his lungs as his body is wracked with the jackhammer-effect. Red spatters the ground beneath, making a sound like raindrops when it spatters against their water-resistant tactical pants. 

 

Jack arches upward suddenly, bringing Rumlow’s blood-smeared ass up with him, lifting his knees clear off the ground as a taxed groan tears itself from his chest. 

 

Brock was always sweet to Winter. He’d coaxed him with gentle, healing touches. He had traced every curve, every inch, across purple welts and cavernous gashes and electrical burns, and freckles and the pink blush that settled in the fleshiest parts of his body. He had kissed those lips till they were both sore from it, tenderly sweeping his sweat-soaked hair back and whispering soothing, reverent praises. He’d done all that before he fucked him. Jack is wrong-- _ this  _ is not what he does to Winter. 

 

A final, gasping cry bounces off the small office as Jack finishes inside of him, and it brings Rumlow back into the room. The knot, impossibly, inflates inside, effectively locking the two of them together and further splitting Brock’s sore, bleeding hole. 

 

To add insult to (literal) injury, Brock has once again came some time in between getting flattened to the ground, and his own hot white seed leaks through the layers of his uniform. HIs stomach is distended, pushing against the flatness of the floor and Jack is still groaning above him, his breath quickening, becoming more shallow as he fills Brock to bursting. 

 

“Jesus--- _ FFFFFFFFUCK…!”  _ Jack rides out the last of his climax, a few final involuntary jerks driving Rumlow’s forehead back into the floor. “Oh, Christ, boss. You’re better than I even dreamed…” 

 

Brock waits until the strength comes back in his biceps before he props himself up on his elbows to stare back at the towering alpha still fully embedded in his ass. He glares at him through heavy eyelids as he drags big gasps of air into his lungs. “Glad you approve,” he sneers. “You’re...you’re still dead when we get off this floor, you know…” 

 

“Yeah,” Jack agrees breathlessly. “But it...it’ll have been...worth it.” 

 

Brock stares down at the tile for a long time, waiting in the stillness of the aftermath for the knot in his ass to deflate enough that he can turn around and use his pistol to blow a 9mm hole in his dick. As Jack returns to drawing an outline on his back (a heart this time), boredom more than curiosity gets the better of him and he asks, “So what was your idea?” 

 

Jack lets out a satisfied hum, slumping against the smaller alpha until his belly flattens against the waistband of Rumlow’s tac pants. “I wanna do this again,” he murmurs, drawing in a mouthful of flesh and biting down possessively. “While you’re doing your sweet little omega. We’ll get him knocked up together.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Brock snorts through clenched teeth. “You think I’m gonna let you near me after this?” 

 

“You  _ will, _ ” Jack snarls, his bared teeth hovering centimeters from Brock’s scent gland. “I know it and so do you. So stop being a fucking tease. It’s not cute.” 

 

“And if I say no?”

 

Jack sighs. “Then I get to go in there and breed your cinnamon omega’s fuck-hole raw, and I won’t be nice about it. I’ll open him up, just like I opened you. And I will see to it that you never,  _ EVER  _ get to come without my cock so far up your ass you can taste  _ spunk _ .” 

 

Rumlow grits his teeth. He can think of better moments to threaten his subordinate than when his frenulum is tickling his lower intestine. “You drive a hard bargain,” he murmurs, a tired grin spreading across his face. 

 

“Damn right I do,” Jack replies just before sinking his teeth into the veiny scent-spot at the side of Rumlow’s neck and digging three fingers into his mouth to muffle the scream. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will always be your alpha, hear me?”  
>    
> Winter nods, pressing their foreheads together as he lets slip a desperate little mewl.  
>    
> “Now I’m gonna make it better, okay? But first you gotta let me see.”  
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to the 3-some yet guys. It's coming (no pun intended). This is still fairly smutty, though. With aftercare :)

“You wanna tell me what the FUCK this is all about?” Brock storms in, slamming a crumpled, cigarette-burned sheet of paper down on the oak desk, inches from Pierce’s patiently folded hands.

 

The man lifts his eyes to meet Rumlow’s burning gaze before taking his time answering. “It’s quite simple, really. Your...assistance with the Asset has been valuable, but obviously lacking the required results.”

 

“REQUIRED RESULTS?” Brock rears up, and it takes a warning glance from Pierce and the advancement of two armed guards for him to remember just *where* his place is. “You never told me---that wasn’t part of the deal!”

 

“I don’t make ‘deals’, Captain. Especially not with low-level lackeys such as yourself.” Pierce takes a leisurely sip from a half-empty coffee cup, quirking an entertained grin at the man who is obviously centimeters away from losing his cool. “Now, as for how we proceed, you have two choices: either you can continue working with the Asset, breeding him during heats and any other time you deem necessary to acquire the Subervient Reponse. Or you refuse to comply with the new arrangement and lose all mating privileges. So far, you still remain the first and only Agent able to control him completely. We value this. However, Lieutenant Rollins has shown signs of promise in his first session with the Asset. I’m assuming you reviewed the tapes?”

 

Rumlow throws his head to the side wall with a loud, disgusted huff.

 

“...Then I am certain you observed an adequate Subservient Response in the Asset.”

 

“You threw him to the goddamn wolves!” Rumlow’s voice resonates around the vast office, cutting into the stale office air like a bull-horn. “You let Rollins fuck him up without any tranquilizers or anesthetics! Hell, even putting him in the ice-box would have been preferable to just handing him over without--!”

 

“And potentially damage his ovum? I think not.” Pierce shoves away from his chair to hover over his desk, the red veins in his eyes pulsing with rage. “You are out of your jurisdiction _and_ your goddamned mind, Captain. You are not to question me. You are NEVER. To question me. Understood?!”

 

Rumlow swallows sharply, his eyes forward and defiant as he gives a slight nod. “Yeah.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yes. _Sir_.”

 

Pierce’s eyes narrow but his mouth curves upward in satisfaction as he sweeps the crumpled paper off his desk. He rubs his thumb across the black cinder, smudging the report. “You are dismissed.”

 

Rumlow opens his mouth before self-preservation takes over. He thinks better of it, spinning on his heel and jamming his shoulder into one of the guards as he strides towards the door.

 

“And Captain?”

 

Rumlow halts, keeping his eyes trained on the steel door in front of his face.

 

“I would take care not to get too emotionally involved with the Asset. Liken him to an assault rifle--your favorite one, if you’d like-- but he is a very expensive, highly lethal weapon. Nothing more. He has the potential to make many, many more weapons. You can be a part of that...if you remember your place. Barge into my office again unannounced and all your visitation rights with the Asset will be suspended. Permanently. Understood?”  

 

“ _Yes sir,_ ” Rumlow manages through clenched teeth.

 

“Good. And take a shower, for god’s sakes. You’ve got alpha stench all over you.”

 

The door opens with a mechanical hiss and Rumlow disappears through it and down the narrow hallway.

 

* * * * *

 

“Lemme see him.”

 

A stammering man in a white lab coat stands in the way of him and the metal-armed soldier on the gurney. He checks the clipboard in his hand, glancing over a few pages before shaking his head. “Sorry, sir. We are waiting for Cleanup right now and our orders are to--”

 

“The fuck outta my way,” Rumlow growls, and the man shudders like a haystack when he shoves his way past him. “Tell Cleanup I’m handling it. And lock the door on your way out.”

 

“B-but Captain, he was just bred not an hour ago and--”

 

“I’m not here to breed him!” Brock is absolutely seething. He gathers a fist-ful of the man’s crisp lab coat and throws him towards the door. “Now get the fuck out and lock the door. We are not to be disturbed, ya got it?!”

 

“Sir---”

 

Rumlow drags air into his nostrils, snapping his pistol out of its holster and angling it into the man’s jaw. “This make it clear enough, Doc?”

 

“Y-yes, sir.” The scientist staggers backward, pawing for the exit button and nearly falling into the doorway when it sighs open.

 

Rumlow doesn’t wait to close the distance between himself and the prone man on the bench--just darts up to him as quickly as he can without breaking into a full run and smoothing his sweat-soaked bangs out of his eyes.

 

The lashes flutter open to expose hazy sea-blue crescents to the white flood of light coming from the medical lamp overhead. Rumlow throws it closed with a grunt, the shadows that fall on his naked body revealing deep blue bruises. Rumlow lets out a shuddering breath, trailing one hand along his side like he’s glass and might break at the slightest touch. “Winter...shit. Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. If I had any clue…”

 

“Mmh.” The man shifts uncomfortably, his flesh arm crooked beneath his prominent ribcage, pink mouth parting in a slow sigh. Rumlow runs his thumb over a particularly deep gash on his high cheekbone and they both wince.

 

“Gonna fuckin’ kill him.”

 

He positively reeks. He smells like Rollins a thousand times over, doused in kerosene and set on fire in the middle of a lake of alpha spunk. Rumlow tries to hide it when he covers his nose, but Winter’s mouth quirks upward and he touches the hem of Rumlow’s tight black tee. “That bad?”

 

“Sorry,” Rumlow rubs his nose until it runs, then sniffs as much of his disgust down as he can. “Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart. It’s on both of us.”

 

“Where…”

 

“Where was I?” Rumlow huffs, the pain and guilt hitting him harder than one of Winter’s punches, low into his gut. “They locked me in the goddamned briefing room and let me watch. They knew--you know--that if I could, I would have tore that fuckin’ door from it hinges and fed my bullets into his head. You know that, don’t you? Oh, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

What he can’t trace with his fingers, he explores with his eyes. He imagines that he doesn’t look much better under the uniform, either. Certainly doesn’t feel good. Jack is a fucking monster.

 

“He’s coming back,” Winter mutters. He draws one knee up to hide himself, as if they very thought sends a wave of fear through him.

 

“Not gonna lie, baby. The order came down. Apparently…” Rumlow flicks his tongue out over his chapped lips as he twirls a thread of cinnamon hair around one finger. “Apparently I’m not alpha enough.”

 

Winter’s eyebrows knit together as he searches Brock’s eyes. “But you’re _my_ alpha.” His metal hand trails up the bruises and bite marks on Brock’s right arm, to his throat, to cup the side of his face. “And I don’t...I don’t want…”

 

“Sssh,” Brock cooes. He lowers his head down, nuzzling their noses together. Every muscle and ache and injury instantly numbed by the electrostatic touch. Their scents-- _theirs--_ mingle in mid-air in silent greeting, soothing and calming the pain. “I will always be your alpha, hear me?”

 

Winter nods, pressing their foreheads together as he lets slip a desperate little mewl.

 

“Now I’m gonna make it better, okay? But first you gotta let me see.”

 

Another slight nod.

 

This man--this _weapon_ \--the assassin that has come and gone like a ghost in the night, reaping thousands of souls in his wake, willingly opens himself up to Rumlow, turning onto his back with a groan as if his body weighs three tons and it takes all his strength just to move it. His hips are covered in thumb-shaped purple marks and a red welts are starting to bloom underneath pulled skin. His member hangs limply between his legs, hairless and glazed with his own drying come. Rumlow snarls, his hackles standing up like spikes as he thinks of everything that fucking _beast_ put his omega through.

 

Winter’s not even in heat.

 

Brock knows that’s not the point. The point was to introduce a new alpha as unexpectedly as possible. If he’d been in heat, Winter would have half been expecting it. Rumlow inspects a red, bloody nipple and Winter winces, his chest heaving as he bites his lip, trying not to pull away. Uttering a few expletives under his breath, Brock pulls a large white tub from the stand beside him and unscrews the cap. They’ve had to use this in the past, when Rumlow had gotten too excited and suckled a little too hard, or when the pumps and electrodes the techs had used left deep bruises on his nipples.

 

He takes out a generous amount of the cream, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger to warm it up, then gently lowering it onto one of the aching buds. Winter bucks, but quickly forces himself back down to the metal cot, flattening his shoulders and burying his flesh fingers into Brock’s thick, soft spikes of hair. Brock starts carefully, circling the swollen skin and lathing on the cream. Winter lets out a sated moan.

 

He works inward, brushing his wide thumb over the awakening bud despite the abuse it has endured, and Brock feels his rage building and his pants tightening simultaneously as he thinks of Jack’s greedy mouth clamping onto _his_ Winter’s nipple and forcing it to stand.

 

Winter has yet to produce milk. It’s not an impossibility prior to his first pregnancy, but it’s rare. Though Brock has no doubt those sick-fuck scientists have been trying their damndest to work it out of him. Who knows what kind of hormones they’ve placed the poor bastard on. He shouldn’t need them.Anything they need Winter’s body to do, Brock should be able to accomplish. If he was a real alpha. If he were enough... Brock feels a tinge of guilt at that thought, clearing his throat as he moves on to the second nipple.  

 

It’s already standing up straight, ready and aching to receive his touch, and damn if Brock doesn’t start leaking into his underwear. He drags a free hand down to tug at the crotch of his pants and Winter lets out a soft laugh. “Sorry,” he mutters.

 

“Don’t be,” Rumlow murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips across the scent-spot beneath Winter’s ear. “Your body is responding to mine because it knows me. Knows my touch. Never be sorry for that.”

 

He pushes a dollop of cream into the center of the bud and Winter whines, tossing his head back to the metal slab. Brock can’t stop himself from glancing below, and Winter’s cock is standing half-mast, the tip ebbing slightly, pink and glossy with fresh slick. “Baby, don’t do that,” Brock whines. His own rod has hardened like granite against the thick metal zipper of his tac-pants, his knot threatening to expand, choking off the residual come still lodged in his tube. “You’re--you’re not well…”

 

“Mmmh,” Winter shifts again, gripping the gurney and spreading his knees as Brock works the cream into a circle. His pink little buds are whittled into fine points, the fatty tissue surrounding it causing his breasts to form twin, stiff peaks. Brock’s dick jumps in his pants as a little stream of come drools out. It’s warm and wet and it makes him feel like he’s slowly pissing himself. “Please…”

 

It’s the residual mating-call talking. Brock’s heart sinks a little at this, but his hand drifts downward. Now that it’s been softened by the cream, it should make it a little easier to inspect the greatest damage.

 

“Little further, sweetheart,” Rumlow purrs, cupping Winter’s soft, hairless balls and giving them a light twist.

 

“Ah!” Winter’s thighs part easily, revealing a clear, warm pool of slick. There’s so much of it that Winter’s hand-printed ass slides around on it, leaving his feet searching for purchase.

 

“Here, sweetie.” Rumlow pulls out the stirrups, worshipping each ankle with a gentle massaging motion as he picks them up, one after the other, to lock them into place. “Therrrrre. That’s better, yeah? Now scootch down for me.”

 

He’s seen the techs do this numerous times. Often, it’s not so much for cleaning purposes as it is to check for fluid amounts. Brock’s nose wrinkles. Jack’s scent drags out of every crevice and it’s like every part of Winter has been tagged and bagged like a common doe. He can’t stop reading the marks and the cuts and the places where the skin has been twisted, pulled, pinched. Punched. Rumlow has to read it over and over and over again; _Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack. JACK._

 

He shakes his head, steadying his hand as it disappears between Winter’s warm thighs and down his slick-soaked crevasse. “Little further down,” Brock commands. Immediately Winter pushes his ass off the gurney so that it hangs down off the edge, fully exposing his battered opening.

 

Rumlow stiffens, a hand flying to his face. “JESUS.”

 

“S-sorry…”

 

“NO,” Rumlow barks, his eyes burning into Winter’s. “You don’t have to be sorry, sweetheart. You NEVER have to be sorry. Gonna feed that jackass my sidearm, the fuckin’…”

 

He puts a finger to Winter’s purple entrance, the ring of muscle rubbed raw and puffy, highlighted with streaks of blood. He squirms uncomfortably, but remains perfectly quiet as Brock pushes a finger in and bright white liquid oozes out. It spills into the clear puddle and soon the whole table is drenched in white. “Fucking hell,” Rumlow mutters. “Gonna get all this out of you, okay.”

 

“But…”

 

“I don’t give a shit what they want. You’re not keeping it in, okay? You’re not going to have his pups. Not on my watch.” Rumlow switches back to Winter’s side, placing both hands palms-down on Winter’s stomach and looking up into his trusting eyes. “Now, you let me know if this hurts, okay?”

 

Winter bites his bottom lip and nods sharply.

 

Brock pushes down.

 

Winter scooches again, his expression twisting in discomfort, knees drawing up as liquid pours out of him in a thick stream. It soon coats his ass and the gurney and pools onto the floor until it touches Rumlow’s boot, Winter’s stretched, aching hole fluttering and tired from holding all that in. “Good boy,” Brock murmurs, rubbing a circular motion on Winter’s belly, dipping his thumbs into the crooks of his hip-joints and working every ounce of spunk out of him until his hole stops leaking.

 

He switches, returning between Winter’s legs to do the same to the aching ring of muscle, dipping both thumbs just past the opening in a soothing massage. He’s pretty sure he’s now managed to soak his pants and probably the office chair he’s sitting on, but what does it fucking matter? As long as his Winter feels better.

 

After a few quiet moments, Winter returns to playing with Brock’s hair as he gazes into his dark brown eyes. “Do you...do you want pups?”

 

Brock’s hands freeze momentarily. He blinks, staring out into the mid-distance as he chews on the thought. “With you? Yeah, baby. Of course. Yeah.”

 

“Hm.” Winter’s mercurial eyes shift upward to the ceiling tiles and he smiles softly. “I’m glad.”

 

Brock doesn’t ask Winter if he wants them--not because he doesn’t wonder, but because it doesn’t matter. Winter is a weapon. A product. A tool for Hydra’s use. And for his use, if he’s being honest. “Does it feel better?”

 

“Yeah,” Winter murmurs.

 

Rumlow rummages through the metal drawers under the gurney until he finds a starch white towel, draping it across Winter’s shoulders and unlatching the fasteners on the stirrups. His healing factor has already kicked in, the bruises that were purple are now red streaks, his nipples returning to their healthy coral color.  “Come on, baby. Let’s get you in the shower.”

 

“Alpha?,” Winter asks, sitting up slowly. A dull pain hits Brock’s chest. Of course. How could he expect him to remember his name? It’s enough that Winter knows him as his mate. Besides, Hydra wouldn’t approve.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What...what am I called?” Winter’s eyes grow distant as he dwells on the thought, hugging the towel around himself as he comes to stand in front of Rumlow.

 

“You don’t have a name,” Brock reminds him for the thousandth time. “But _I_ call you Winter. You are my Winter. Because they found you in the snow.”

 

“Winter…” He tries it on his tongue and smiles. “I like it.”

 

“I like _you_ ,” Brock murmurs, pulling him in for a gentle kiss.

 

* * * * *

 

Pierce levels a skeptical look at the towering Alpha as he struts in. He certainly looks the part: big, bulky, with thighs thicker than tree trunks and a neck that goes right into his shoulders.

 

He comes to attention, snapping a quick salute and clasping his hands behind his back. “You called for me, Sir?”

 

“I did.” Pierce rounds the desk, pushing his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose as he sits down on the edge. “How did it go?”

 

“The session?” Jack gives a sharp nod, shrugging slightly. “Just fine.”

 

“Not with the Asset,” Pierce corrects. “With your Superior.”

 

Jack’s grin widens the scar on his chin. “Just fine.”

 

“That’s good. Because to be honest, I didn’t expect you to breed him so soon after breeding the Asset. I am concerned the bonding won’t take.”

 

“Oh, it’ll take,” Jack assures him, his grin widening.

 

“You are that sure of your abilities as Alpha?”

 

Rollins looks taken aback by this, as he readjusts his stance and his smile disappears. His eyes flicker with an ice-like fire as he stares at the Director. “Absolutely.”

 

Pierce continues making his way around the desk, hands folded, gazing out at the starless void beyond the windows. “Rumlow found the memo. He’s not pleased, as I’m sure you already know. It was important to keep him in the dark until this moment. But, now that you and the Asset have shared a...bond, he is of the understanding that this is a permanent arrangement. What I want to be sure of, Lieutenant, is that you understand your part in this.”

 

Jack nods. “Of course. Successfully breed the Asset at all costs.”

 

“Yes. That is the end goal. But I am also concerned that the Captain has gotten far too attached to the Asset. I am counting on you to complicate that bond.”

 

Jack’s grin returns. “With pleasure.”

 

“Then you know the next step in the plan.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good.” Pierce turns back to the desk, plucking a key-card from it and offering it to the towering alpha. As Jack takes it, Pierce adds, “You will need Z-Level access to perform your duty. Given the Captain’s...unpredictable nature, it is best you allow him some time with the Asset before attempting it. I expect the Asset to be successfully mated by his next heat. No matter what needs to be done.”

 

Jack nods sharply, slipping the key card into the pocket of his tactical vest. “Consider it done.”

 

Pierce grins. “Dismissed.”

 

* * * * *

  
 

 


End file.
